Locks
by nanniships
Summary: Another Baxley drabble based on a nonsexual intimacy prompt from tumbr: playing with each other's hair


Locks

The table in Mr. Molesley the Elder's kitchen was never very big. It served as the groaning board for a family of three for decades, and was adequate for that. As the senior Mr. Molesley would say frequently: "Thank goodness Joseph were never a _big_ lad."

But somehow, it seemed smaller to the aforementioned small lad as he grew and began covering every square inch of it with his notes and books. Mr. Molesley the elder would retire to his chair in the sitting room of a night rather than try to smoke his pipe and read his paper at the table anymore. His good natured grumbles amused his new daughter-in-law greatly.

But as they were still trying to figure out how to share a cottage as an extended family, Phyllis made quite certain her father-in-law was not hanging about downstairs when she'd traipse down in her dressing gown and remind Joseph to come to bed before he wound up asleep at the table. She wasn't certain who would be the more embarrassed if he was there.

"Although I quite like the creases the books leave on your face," she teased him, "I think you best get a good night's sleep."

"I will," he promised. "I'm very nearly done now." And with that, he lost himself again in the lesson he was setting in Literature for the Upper Form.

Phyllis sighed in amused frustration and fetched her mending basket to the table, taking up what little space was left on it. As she was sitting, she reached out to smooth down his hair, which had been mightily disarranged when he'd run his hands absently through it while trying to come up with a way to make William Makepeace Thackery a bit more palatable to 13 and 14 year olds.

Joseph shut his eyes for a moment as Phyllis caressed his head. He looked over at her as she made herself comfortable and began stitching up a rent in the bottom of one of Her Ladyship's gowns.

"You don't have to wait up for me. I'll be up as soon as I'm done…" he trailed off as she gave him a knowing look and returned her attention back to her sewing. "I'll only be a few more moments," he promised. Phyllis repeated the look, throwing in a raised eyebrow.

"Please yourself," he said with a grin. "I certainly don't mind you sitting down here with me."

They sat in companionable silence as they both worked. But as Phyllis edged closer to the small lamp in the center of the table to take advantage of the dim light and bent down to follow her stitches closely, her long braid fell over her shoulder and gently brushed the top of his pile of books. It distracted Joseph at the corner of his eye.

As he frowned down as his outline, his hand holding the pencil tapped lightly on the table and his other hand began trying to lift the end of Phyllis' braid off of his books. But as he lightly grasped it, hoping not to disturb her, the fine ends of her hair brushed soothingly against his fingers. Although his intention had been to simply move her braid to one side out of eye shot, he found he was reluctant to put it down. Instead, he continued to scribble from time to time as he rubbed the end of her braid between his thumb and fingers.

Phyllis didn't notice his light touch at first as she concentrated on her seam. But eventually she noticed the tiny, rhythmic tugs on the end of her braid and glanced sideways at Joseph. He was concentrating on finishing up and absently lifted the braid to brush the end against his cheek. She watched with a growing smile as he sighed and put down his pencil.

"When you've quite finished," she said, pulling her head back slightly to make her braid jump between his fingers.

"What? Oh…!" He dropped her braid and averted his eyes as he began gathering up his work. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"I didn't mind," she assured him. "Really, Joseph."

"Well…that's good." He swept his books into an untidy pile, leaned back in his chair, and yawned. "Are you ready for bed now?"

"Am _I_ ready for… Joseph, I've been ready for the last twenty minutes."

"What are we waiting for then?" he asked with a grin.

With a roll of her eyes, Phyllis put her sewing away and tapped him lightly on the nose with the end of her braid.

"Not a thing," she replied.


End file.
